The Boy Who Leapt Through Time
by partofforever
Summary: Harry Potter, known also as The Savior of Wizarding World, is trying to arrange a new life in the post-war reality. It's not as easy as you might think though, especially when you come across a whole cluster of Slytherins, a lover of lemon drops and a certain young sorcerer.
1. A late passenger

**AN: **_I'm back with a new story - it came to my mind when I was translating "Forget me not" to Polish. The action takes place after "Deathly hallows"; I skipped the epilogue. _

_I hope you'll follow this story with joy._

**~~The Boy Who Leapt Through Time~~**

**Chapter I**

**~~A late passenger~~**

"Do we _really_ have to do this?" Ron sighed when - clearly lingering - he packed his trunk to a car he purchased just a few weeks ago. "We're heroes after all!"

"Ron!" Hermione huffed indignantly. She was already sitting in the passenger's seat. "What will you tell our... _your_ children, when they ask how many NEWTs did you get?"

"He will say that when he was their age he was camping all year long with Harry Potter" From the front door of the London's tenement they rented an apartment in, came Harry's voice.

Ron opened the trunk and again, ignoring the curious stares of pedestrians passing by, he packed another suitcase and cage with Ludolf, Harry's new owl, which he bought some time ago after coming to the conclusion that continued use of the postal owls is not only impractical, but also exposes him too frequently to people's view.

Yes - since the end of the war seeing people has become extremely burdensome for The Chosen One. He tried not to contact with anyone outside the close circle of friends. This meant more or less that since May he talked mainly with Ron and Hermione, because they lived together, the Weasleys, because he often visited them and some colleagues from school - especially Neville and Luna. Other magical humans once they saw him on the horizon, responded in several very different ways. Some were politely coming up to shake his hand and these were the least harmful (though after meeting fifty of such people on his way to the grocery store Harry was really going crazy). Moreover, already when he was just The Boy Who Lived, he had to learn how to deal with such behavior. He tried to be nice and gentlemanly, humble and smiling. He didn't accept gifts, though at times he was offered some very interesting and expensive items and services - just yesterday a hunched gray-haired man offered him a trip to the Maldives and a week earlier a woman standing behind him in the queue at the butcher wanted to give him his youngest daughter as a wife. It was usually enough for such people when he just smiled and exchanged a few words with them. Unfortunately there were other, more brazen, and they were trying to enter his personal life. Among other things such people were one of the main reasons why he, Ron and Hermione decided to move to the muggle part of the capital. Here, at least for now, no one got his address, and with a little effort he could freely move around. Of course this resulted in a number of drawbacks - he needed to drink polyjuice potion when he wanted to go to the all-nigh shop, he had to shop in different parts of the city and he couldn't use magic too loudly, because there was still a chance that one of the neighbors was a healer at St. Mungo's or a Ministry's official. Although Harry did his best, several times he happened to meet witches and wizards who thought that they might take him half a day, talking about very _odd_ but not very _interesting_ things like conspiracy theories according to which he was Dumbledore's son or laments about the state of the Ministry of Magic (part of the public was seeing him as the next minister and at first he even enjoyed the thought, but then it started to scare him), stories about participation in the Battle of Hogwarts, which annoyed him probably the most, because he saw who fought and who did not. There were also people - Harry discovered it with some joy in fact - that weren't pleased with his victory and Voldemort's death. They dind't usually tout him personally, but they kept sending threatening letters with poisons and curses and as they didn't know his address, all the owl were guided to the Burrow. After Mr. Weasley three times burned his hands after hardly opening the envelope, and tasted poisoned lemon cake for once, it was decided that all correspondence for Mr. Potter has to go through strict control in the Ministry of Magic first.

And now that affair with school. Well, maybe he has felt some sentiment at the thought of returning to Hogwarts, but he was expecting the worst. At heart he was glad to have the opportunity to see the school again - walk through the corridors and meadows where he met so many amazing adventures and maybe even participate in Quidditch matches. On the other hand, he could not get rid of the fear of an avalanche of questions, whispers and stares. Sure, he survived it all already so many times that he should have get used to it, right? He was a star nearly since the day he was born, then by all school years, in good and bad times, there were so many unbelievable stories and gossips people were telling about him (in this category Rita Skeeter was the winner for sure).

To avoid the media buzz around him (as if such a thing could have even happened), just after the war he gave an interview in _The Quibbler_ - he felt an uncontrollable aversion for_ The Prophet_ even now - and responded to questions and complaints, publicly stand for the innocence of Draco Malfoy and his mother (he didn't feel any pity for Lucius though) and dispelled doubts. Of course he kept for himself the fact that he was Voldemort's horcrux and that in the meantime he died and talked to equally dead Albus Dumbledore. Sometimes he was almost beginning to regret that he wasn't living in this mysterious reality in which probably no one cared what toothpaste he is using or what he's eating for breakfast.

But his insistent efforts to remain a private person came to nothing and everything went even worse three weeks ago, when he was sipping his morning coffee and browsing the latest issue of _Transfiguration today. _An unknown owl flew in and landed in front of him, obviously waiting for something. He raised his eyebrow, because he wasn't expecting any letters. In addition the owl was strange - it was not one that belonged to the Weasley's family or to one of his friends. Conclusion? Either it was something from the Ministry of Magic or someone has found his secret address. In the end Harry sighed and untied three letters. _Three_. It has brought to his mind some vague association, when he was seating at another table and eating a different breakfast, but there was a similar envelope in his hands.

"It's for me?" he said out loud, but the owl was already gone.

In this situation he could only put back the cooling cup of coffee and take a closer look at the parcel.

Just as he had feared, he saw his own name only on one of the envelopes - the second was for Hermione, the third - for Ron. They were all adorned with an emblem of an educational institution that was in possesion of his current adress and that institution was Hogwarts.

"Nooo..." he groaned, trying at all costs to wake up from this terrible nightmare.

"What happened?" Hermione entered the kitchen with a towel on her head.

Harry wordlessly pointed at the envelope.

"Mail at that hour? From whom?" She grabbed her parchment with surprise. "For me too? But no one knows this address... Wait, that's impossible!" Hermione held her breath, breaking the seal and reading the letter extremely fast.

Harry did the same thing in a slightly less dramatic way - he was almost sure what will he learn from reading the letter.

"Oh, well..." Hermione probably already finished. "I think I shouldn't be surprised, we made no official resignation. Fred and George after their escape had to sign some papers..."

"Freeagooor?" Ron also decided to visit the kitchen, yawning at the same time as his eyes settled on the last sealed envelope. "Oh, it's for me?"

He grabbed the letter without waiting for an answer and - pulling the milk out of the fridge at the same time - read it.

"What the hell?!" Just like Harry thought Ron's reaction was rather violent. "We have to go back to school? But... That's _absurd_!"

"Have you learned a new word, Ron?" asked Hermione, taking the carton of milk from her boyfriend.

"What? I... But that's not the point! Why should we go back? Somehow I survived without NEWTs! And Hermione! You know how it will affect..." Suddenly he paused, as if he only has realized that Harry Potter aka Saviour of the Wizarding World is sitting in the kitchen as well.

"Come on Ron, they won't eat me, will they?" Harry tried to turn the situation into a joke, but in fact he would most willingly buy a ticket to Peru, where he can spend the rest of his life plaiting baskets.

Therefore, without further discussion on the same day they chose subjects that they were going to take and then ordered the necessary books and potions ingredients, pens, bottles of ink and new school robes (for some unknown reason the ones they were using in their sixth year were not only too small, but also torn and dirty). The boys could not resist buying two sets of brooms' accessories. Hermione noticed with surprise that she was announced the Head Girl - Ron accepted his own promotion with no surprise at all. Harry, who was never a prefect (for which he thanked the heavens and Dumbledore now), found his old Gryffindor team captain's badge in the envelope.

Dense and ready on the first of September friends got into Ron's car (he got a driver's license at a breakneck pace, which amazed Hermione and amused Harry, because he could only guess what methods of persuasion used Ronald Weasley on the Muggle examiner to conceive him in the matter of his driving skills).

Although The Chosen One feared the return to school, everything seemed to go pretty good so far. Well, _almost_ everything.

"No, no, no, we could have taken the subway" Hermione nervously whispered when once again they were standing on the red light whilst the clock relentlessly counted down time to the departure of the train.

"Subway?" Ron was impatiently tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. "How do you imagine our subway ride with the trunks? Not to mention your cat and mine and Harry's owls?"

_Just like in the good old days_, Harry thought, listening to the quarrel. Of course he didn't share this observation out loud, because he would risk an attack from the irritated Weasley and Granger.

"Finally" Ron pushed gas as soon as the lights changed color. "We're not far off."

Indeed, after a few minutes they stood on the parking in front of the King's Cross station and they put out luggage in a hurry. The car was meant to be picked up in the afternoon by Mr. Weasley, who had a second key, but Ron checked three times if he has closed the door.

"We need to run" opined Harry looking at his watch. "We've got seven minutes."

His friends nodded and soon the three of them ran toward Platform 9 and 3/4, not paying much attention to passers-by.

"Four minutes!" Harry shouted to Hermione who was running beside him. Ron has beaten them and was almost at the hidden passage. "Go ahead!"

_Perhaps I''ll be lucky enough and won't be there at time_, he thought, hoping that he can miss the feast.

"Stay right behind me" said Hermione, running toward the railing.

"Of course!" And when Hermione vanished, he followed.

When Harry was nearly at the hidden passage, he suddenly remembered that one time when he couldn't get to Platform 9 and 3/4. At this point he would gave a lot for such a situation.

But nothing happened and after a moment he stood before the Hogwarts Express shrouded in clouds of steam.

The train was _moving_.

"So The Chosen One can't even jump to a moving train?" He sighed theatrically and grabbed the trunk and Ludolf's cage as he passed by parents waving to their children.

"But how can I do it with all this baggage?" Harry wondered aloud and then he remembered the rather obvious fact - he was a wizard after all and the wand he carried in his pocket could prove to be quite useful right now. "Perhaps I should show some nonverbal magic in front of the first years?" He smiled, imagining the surprised faces of kids stuck to the window and wondering aloud whether it really is that Harry Potter.

"One... and two" he said, waving his wand, and then at the last minute he grabbed the train doors and jumped in.

"That's what you call a grand entrance, am I righ?" Harry asked, tucking his wand and brushing hair from face. He was sure he just won tomorrow's _Prophet's_ cover.

"Indeed, Mr. Potter" said someone standing next to him and Harry could hear in his head something that sounded strangely similar to a fire alarm signal.

He looked up, because he didn't believe his own ears.

And then he did the only thing that seemed to fit the situation - he passed out.

But before Harry closed his eyes he saw once more the face of a person he was sure to see never again. Here he was standing in front of Tom Marvolo Riddle, known also as Lord Voldemort. Dead for three months.


	2. The Phantom

_**AN**: Thank you for all the comments and follows - I'm glad you liked the first chapter and I hope that you will enjoy the second one as well. It seems a little bit too melodramatic for me, but well, I couldn't help it. _

**~~A boy who leapt through time~~**

**Chapter II**

**~~The Phantom~~**

"You know, he looks strange..."

"Well, maybe you're right, Leo... It's probably because of his clothes, they're so..."

"... sloppy?"

"I would rather say that they're _unusual_, Abraxas. Have you ever seen such a shirt?"

"Certainly not in our manor!"

Harry was listening to that thought-provoking discussion for a few moments with his eyes still closed. Experience has taught him that sometimes it's better to play dead... or at least unconscious.

Though he couldn't see anything, Harry was sure he was in a train - he felt and heard the rattle of rolling wheels. Probably he was lying on the couch in a compartment and a few people were leaning over him. Until this point the reasoning seemed quite logical, though there were still some inexplicable issues...

"Maybe he's _American_?" asked someone, emphasizing the last word with clear contempt.

"Does any of you remember his name?" Second voice - that certainly could be described as slightly worried - entered the discussion.

"It was something like... Potter? Harold Potter?"

_Harold?_ Harry felt that he likes this discussion less and less with every word. Say what you like, but _every_ wizard knew his name. And that Abraxas... Where had he previously heard that name, uttered in a strangely similar tone?

There were several possibilities. The first that came to his mind was a collective amnesia of the wizards' community. They have all forgotten who he is, what is his name and how he looks and it seemed to him so funny that he barely resisted laughing out loud. He was unable to control the slight grimace though and it didn't escape his companions' attention.

"I think he moved a little!" The owner of anxious voice let out a strangled cry. Harry had the impression that this guy is a bit younger than the others.

"It must have been imagination."

_Yes, leave me alone for a moment_. _I have to think_, Harry thought, considering the second option - his whole life has been an illusion or a dream, he wasn't named _Harry Potter,_ he was not a wizard, he didn't fight with any Lord Voldemort, he had no scar on his forehead...

"Look, he has something here" somebody whispered curiously and unceremoniously touched the scar.

"Oh!"

"Maybe he was dueling with someone?"

"Do you think he's good in it?"

_I'm pretty good,_ Harry commented internally and the second vision was overthrown. His trademark was still where it should be, and if passengers were talking about duels with such interest, he could be pretty sure that they were on their way to Hogwarts.

So maybe he has just _imagined_ that whole scene with Voldemort?

"Tom said..." The younger boy started, but then something cut the air with a whistle and that something sounded suspiciously familiar to a heavy book landing on someone's head. "Hey, that hurt!"

"You should be glad he's not here, because it would have hurt much more," said someone in a serious tone. "You know he doesn't like when we use that name."

_I knew only one man who disliked his own name so much_, Harry thought, starting to seriously worry about his own situation. He was not afraid, _not yet,_ but he was slowly overwhelmed by a feeling of being enclosed in a trap. Because if these people knew _that_ Tom, he'd thought it was a sticky situation. And if Abraxas was the grandfather of one blonde Slytherin, the conclusion could be only one.

"Well, well, Rufus, we all know that you are _faultless._" A new, nonchalant voice joined the conversation. "What did he say?"

"That Harold's in shock! Do you think he'll be ok?"

_Harry. And yes, I'm in shock._ _Not every day you meet bloody indestructible Lord Voldemort. And not every day you have the opportunity to listen to a discussion of people who for some time should be dead._

"Isn't it strange that he brought him here? I don't think that he would bothered so much for any of us and that guy is a complete stranger..."

_Jealous?_

"Jealous?" Someone uttered aloud his thought and he couldn't avoid giggling.

Of course silence fell immediately.

"You laughed at me, Black!"

"_I_!? _He_ laughed!"

"You blame it on the unconscious? Where is your ancestral honor, eh? I'd recognize your fatuous laugh everywhere!"

"Don't mess with my family!"

"Now, now, calm down, unless you _do_ want to get detention before the feast..."

"There are no teachers in the train, Malfoy, don't play so cool!"

"Don't loose your temper so easily, Nott. Your family owes _my_ father enormously many acres under the Goblin's Hill!"

"What?! _Everyone_ knows that your grandfather lost them in cards in 1876!"

"How dare you say that about my ancestors!"

"Stop it, you'll drop the trunks right on our heads!"

"Get out of my way, Black, unless you want to know what is Malfoy's anger!

"I assure you that when we, the Blacks, has been able to conjure up selfcleaning dishes, your grandparents didn't know how to use cutlery."

"_What_?!"

"Well said, show him his no aristocracy!"

"Oh, Avery, _your_ ancestors at that time probably were still living in caves."

"Black, do you really want me to demonstrate my Neanderthal strength on your filthy face?"

"I love to look at your argument, my dears, you are like an old married couple."

"Malfoy, I'll give you Avery as a wife, if you want him so badly."

"That's not what I meant!"

"Really? Apparently Orion saw how you looked into the bathroom when..."

"One more word, Nott, and you will be able to smell the flowers of Goblin's Hill from the bottom."

"Don't want to tell us who you were looking at? It's better to confess now!"

"Take your dirty hands off me, Black!"

"Shut up finally, you'll wake up Harold!"

"Harry," he said aloud before he realized what he was doing.

And when he was about to open his eyes to face the inevitable future (or perhaps past?), he heard his name, _real_ name, as if someone had called him from a huge distance, somewhere... on the back of his head? He could not be sure, but he thought that the voice was familiar. And it was becoming louder and louder, as if he slowly floated to the surface of a lake and in a moment, just in a moment was to emerge on the other side. He was feeling just so - as if he was drifting in a heavy, dark water. The rattling of the wheels disappeared somehow and his head became suspiciously light. The voice was now coming from somewhere up above and Harry wasn't really sure what to think about all this. Besides, thinking has become very difficult, because he imagined that it begins to lack oxygen and he used all the power of his will to get closer to the source of the voice, and - perhaps - to the surface of water. He held out his hand...

... and waved helplessly, opening his eyes, because someone was shaking him with determination.

"Wake up finally, man!" Apparently Ron was trying to overturn his guts on the other side.

"Not so hard, you'll do him harm!" Hermione was clearly worried. Harry guessed that he heard her voice before.

"Wrackspurts mixed up in his head for sure," said Luna carelessly.

"And what if he doesn't wake up?" Ginny gave a pessimistic note.

"We have to find that guy that hurt him!" Neville said in a tone that brooked no opposition.

"But I think there's nothing _seriously_ wrong with him?"

"I'm not sure, Ginny, there are still a lot of people that would like to see Harry's death."

"For example Rotfang conspiracy."

"We'll have to tell Professor McGonagall."

"Do you think that any students would..."

"Oh, I think he woke up." Luna drew the attention of all present to The Chosen One lying on the floor.

"Harry!" Hermione rushed to his neck, hugging him tightly. "Are you all right?"

"Who did this to you?"

"Don't worry, we'll get him soon!"

"Who was it?"

Harry suspected that confessing the fact that he saw Voldemort in the train is not the best idea. After all he could be wrong. He could only _think_ that he has seen him.

No... Somehow he couldn't believe it.

"Harry?" Ginny looked at him with obvious concern. "What happened? You don't look well..."

He was about to say that it's nothing - he just fell over during a spectacular leap, but when he was about to open his mouth, he felt pain - the kind of pain that he hasn't felt for several months.

_Scar_. His scar was hurting.

It was not a terrible pain, not like usual. He felt a dull throb, like an unpleasant reminder.

Harry instinctively put his hand to his forehead.

"Harry, is your..." Hermione began, but she was interrupted:

"It's nothing, Hermione, I just hit my head when I jumped to the train."

Friends quickly exchanged glances, as if to consider whether they should believe in this story.

"So you were not attacked?"

It seemed to him that he heard some disappointment in Neville's voice.

"Stop it, you really don't think that there is a potential murderer at every corner, do you?" He wanted this remark to sound like a joke, but his friends were silent.

Luna broke the silence with her dreamy voice:

"I've heard that this year school will be protected by Heliopaths."

"Heliopaths?" Neville asked curiously and Harry knew that the rest of the way to the castle he could avoid further discussion of the susppicious swoon.

...

Whispers. Looks. Fingers pointing at him. He had to admit that he had expected all of these and he wasn't disappointed. Younger students looked at him with a mixture of admiration, concern and fear and he thought that he won't have any problem with them - he can give away a few autographs, take some pictures and it'll be over. Students who had seen him before also directed their eyes at him, but they were different - they were insolent. Of course it didn't refered to all of the student - at the gate of the castle he came across a group of Hufflepuffs - Ernie Macmillan, Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones really welcomed him as a friend - and at the Gryffindor table, as he expected, he could count on the undying support. The other students, mostly - why wasn't it surprising? - Slytherins, were staring at him with or without enthusiasm, as if they were trying say "What do you all see in him?". The latter bothered him the most - why couldn't people finally give him a little bit of peace and quiet? Maybe he should separate one day - let's say Saturday for example - to meet with fans, so that he can feel at least some freedom on other days of the week?

Harry tried not to think about it or at least to think as little as possible so as not to spoil the whole pleasure of returning to school. After all this place was his home for so many years - the first and truest home he ever had. Somewhere between one thought and another he saw a picture of another boy who felt the same way in his head, but he quickly threw it away and helped himself to some jelly with fruits.

When the feast was already coming to an end and the prefects took care of the first year students, someone grabbed Harry from behind. He was about to pull out his wand when he saw Minerva McGonagall, the new headmistress.

"Let me kidnap you for a moment," she said, not even waiting for Harry's approval and pulled him to the side door.

He was in the same room in the fourth grade, when he had to accept the fact that there was the fourth participant in the Triwizard Tournament. It seemed so far away - Cedric Diggory was still alive and Fleur didn't know Bill Weasley yet! In retrospect events of that year were as hidden in mist.

"Is there something wrong, Professor?" Harry asked politely, though he hoped that soon the interview will end, so that he can easily go to bed.

"I'm supposed to ask you this question," said McGonagall, looking at Harry sternly. "Why didn't you report to me immediately that you fainted on the train? I should be glad that Miss Granger is your friend, otherwise I'll probably never know about that incident."

"But nothing happened," Harry sighed. It could be expected that Hermione won't leave the matter run its own course.

"Let me be the judge. I've heard that your scar hurts again?"

"What?" He was truly surprised. "I didn't say anything about it."

"Miss Granger maintains that after waking up you've raised your hand to your forehead," said the headmistress in a sedate voice.

"I ... I banged my head. I was almost late for the train and when I jumped into the open door I hit my head" He tried to smile, but the whole story was perhaps not too convincing.

"Well, if you say so... " It seemed that McGonagall believed him. At least for now. "You can go to the dormitory. Just remember, Harry - I'm on your side. Nothing has change in this point."

"Thank you, Professor."

...

When we finally arrived at the tower, avoiding all unnecessary meetings with students, he didn't find Ron and Hermione in the common room. They were waiting for him in the boys' dormitory, discreetly left by all the other roommates.

Hermione probably felt a little guilty seeing Harry's face as she said:

"You know, I had to..."

The boy ignored that remark. He really didn't want to talk about everything that happened.

"You really looked bad," Ron said, trying to placate him.

"We're just worried about you", Hermione added. "So little time has passed..."

"I saw Voldemort on the train," said loudly and clearly Harry, watching his friends' reaction.

To his surprise no one fell off the chair, no one has stopped breathing, dropped his glasses or showed surprise in another way.

"Well, I expected that something like this could happen," Hermione said quietly, staring at Harry with concern. "You were after all so quiet, too quiet. Such things are affecting people in the most unexpected moments, Harry."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, cocking his head to one side, as if Hermione was talking to him in Chinese and he couldn't really understand it.

"You know, when I saw that you're touching the scar, I thought it might be something like a phantom pain. I occurs when, for example, an injured person..."

"I know what a phantom pain is, Hermione," Harry interrupted her with evident exasperation. Apparently they wanted to make him look insane.

"No need to get upset right away." The girl was probably a little sad. "I just want to say that it's no wonder that you see and feel things that are not there. In your state..."

"In my state?!" Harry burst out. He was tired of that conversation. -"Do you think I'm an idiot, Hermione? What's next? Maybe you'll put me in St. Mungo? Maybe you think I'm a madman?"

Hermione got up without a word and quickly left the room, hiding her face in hands. Ron ran behind her, casting a look of reproach.

_It was exaggerated_, said a voice in Harry's head.

"No, it wasn't," he answered and threw himself on the bed, trying to sleep.

Some time later he heard his friends returning to the room. They talked, laughed and fooled around. As if everything was as before.

But for Harry nothing was as before.

The light went out and Harry thought everyone had gone to bed, but he still squirmed from side to side, unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong. Phantom pain? It seemed to him that it wasn't a proper term for a scar gave with a Killing Curse. And yet he was _not_ crazy. Probably. Who normal would think that he met Voldemort himself, followed by a whole bunch of dead people? After all it was only his imagination, wasn't it?

"I can't sleep," he said aloud, but no one answered.

Harry stood up and pulled the Invisibility Cloak out of his trunk. He had to go somewhere. He would also like to talk to someone, but in that moment he realized the undeniable fact - he didn't have anyone to share his problems with. Sirius was dead. Just like Dumbledore. Even Snape seemed to him a relevant trustee at the moment, but - could he be wrong? - he didn't really have a chance to talk to him now.

Harry walked alone through a long, empty corridor, and the moon brightened his way.

Suddenly he stopped and held his breath.

Someone was watching him.


End file.
